Rescuing Bahadur Shah II
by detective.herculepoirot
Summary: Part of a larger series of Assassin's Creed fanfiction titled Assassin's Creed: Independence - Memories of the Revolt, set during the Indian Rebellion of 1857, this story features two Assassins and several rebel Sepoys seeking leadership. And they have only one person in mind - Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal Emperor. Written in by Shubham Puri and Nathan Algren (myself)


Assassin's Creed  
Independence  
Recollection: Freeing the Emperor  
DNA SEQUENCE #IN734 (Assassin Ishita of the Indian Brotherhood) – Night of May 10-11, 1857  
I knew that the day would be historical. And it was, for most people. Yet when I recollect that day, the memories that come to my mind take me back many days.  
Now, late that night, we were outside the Lal Qila, observing the fortifications and planning our course of action. We had expected fortifications, but not like the ones we saw. Which is why we only had some thirty to forty men backing us up.  
Fateh Singh quickly drew my attention to this fact - stating that it would be better to shoot ourselves in the head than go for a head-on confrontation - when a Sepoy rubbed salt in our wounds. We were low on bullets since most had been used up in our previous confrontations. I suggested taking the help of our "wild friends", that referring to the elephants, which had been caged by the British.  
Which was a bit of a risky strategy, since the British had trained these elephants for their cavalry. We would need some really strong stimulus to get the desired effect. The only thing in our favour was that the elephants were quite cramped.  
My thoughts of this elephant stampede were interrupted by a much more practical and urgent consideration - how to get past the entrance. There were at least eight guards, and there might have been more behind the walls. With fifty bullets, and slightly less men, our best bet was to give one to each, and give the remnant ammunition to the more skilled marksmen among the Sepoys, which is exactly what Fateh Singh ordered.  
Maybe I should have explained my plan then and there itself instead of keeping the suspense, but down the vantage point I went, and experimented with a new sort of dart that I had developed - a chemical weapon with high amount of liquor in it. And it worked. A nice show began, as one of the guards shouted to another in a seemingly drunk fashion, "Oy! You luck...lucky bloke! You... you may have won... your bet but... but... remember - when my... my day comes... you'll be... literally...paup...pauperized!"  
This only enraged the other guard, who called him a pauper, causing widespread laughter in the nearby guards.  
But then the argument grew more intense, with the first guard, whom I hit with a dart, saying, "You just see, you just see - the natives here have a saying - "Har kutte ka din ata hai" (Literally, 'Every dog's day comes', reflecting that everyone gets lucky someday) - it is only a matter of hours, I say - until mine comes!"  
The other made more derogatory remarks that how the first guard had been reduced to the level of the natives, and how he must commit suicide if he loses a few more bets. However, more ridiculing led to enraging the guard more than ever, and he quickly threw a dagger towards the other guard's face. Well, he was lucky enough to dodge it for a moment, but got wounded for the knife hit his shoulder. A third guard, who came in-between to stop the two, accidentally got shot by him, instead of the drunken guard. And instead of realizing his mistake, the drunken guard instead charged and brutally stabbed the guard who had shot him. Two other guards arrived, but by now the show had become too violent for anyone to enjoy, and I returned to Fateh Singh.  
"Who is it," asked he. I must have been in the shadows, so I walked into the moonlight, joking with him, "You forgot so quickly? Never mind, you can thank me later."  
I told him about my little experiment, how I accomplished the task of "forcing them to turn on each other."  
Meanwhile, another poison-affected guard came. I had lost interest in the fight, and Fateh Singh drew my attention to the fact that only three guards were left. The poisoned guards had killed each other in the end.  
Fateh Singh quickly dispatched the three guards with throwing knives. I tried asking him who taught him, and he promised to tell me later.  
With this, Fateh Singh, who was ably commanding the Sepoys, ordered them to hold the line at the gate, while we moved inside, quietly, under cover of the night. The first cage was not too far off, and we reached there quickly, avoiding contact with anyone. All we had to do was not to leave the dark areas, which were plenty, thanks to whoever designed the area with walls in all orientations; and to the many plants and trees who covered our moves.  
Fateh Singh remarked, "Alright... here it is, the grand moment. Hindustan Zindabad!"  
And he kicked open the cage, firing a shot in the air simultaneously. This did two things. Well actually three things, now that I think of it - first, it was a signal to our Sepoys to move in towards the cage; second, it scared the elephants, who ran in all directions, crushing anything in their way; and third, it served as a warning to the firangis - that they are not the ones to rule us, that this nation and its people do not need a foreign power to take care of us, for us.  
The elephant stampede worked well. A few of them died, a few wounded, and the remaining ones terrified and shaken by this sudden turn of events. By this the Sepoys gathered near the first cage, and the two of us started our move towards the second cage. Again, the path was practically empty. It seemed as if nothing had happened, and the night was quiet for now, just as any night would be.  
The second cage, however, was a shocking sight that horrified both of us alike.  
"What horrors..."  
I told Fateh Singh to open the cage.  
As it opened, many soldiers - Sepoys - escaped. Apparently, the elephants had been moved out long ago, and the cage had been filled with prisoners. Many of these were civilians, and not a single one of them that I saw did not have one or few fingers cut off. One even had both his arms cut off.  
As Fateh Singh blankly gazed at the escaping prisoners, I thought for a while - if we don't continue with the task at hand, many more will end like this.  
With that, seeing that the path was clear, we called our band of Sepoys to follow us, and on we went to the Emperor's residence within the fortress. There was no resistance at all.  
A few Sepoys and the two of us called out to the Emperor from below his window only - that we wanted his blessings for this revolution of ours, we wanted to be under his able leadership, and that we had risen up against the British. Without a doubt, age might have weakened him physically, but it had not in the slightest way withered his authority, his power and his image is the 'Jahanpanah'.  
The Emperor gazed for a few minutes from the window, and in his gaze I could see clearly a sense of dilemma. Finally, he came down to talk to us. He was concerned about how he would escape, with him being practically a captive of the British. We did not need to assure him, the Sepoys did that in unison. Fateh Singh made a signal, and within seconds, the Sepoys formed a neat turtle formation for assuring safe passage to the Emperor. We walked a few metres ahead of the group, since we did not want them to encounter any unwelcome guests that the British might send to have a nice little chat with us, or worse - to kill us.  
And there had been reinforcements from their side. But by the time we saw this, it was a little too late. The walls of the Qila blocked every other passage, and anyways - the English Musketeers - at least fifteen of them - had seen us. Their commander stepped forward, his authoritative gaze not faltering for a moment.  
"If you two just make it quiet and easy for us, I can tell my men to have mercy on you and let you live..."  
A nice offer, but Fateh Singh challenged him, "What do you want, you evil firangi?"  
The Commander added, coming close to Fateh Singh, "Oh, didn't I make myself clear," and loudly shouted, "Hands up where I can see them, and no funny tricks!"  
We did so, and that must have made him happy. I could almost see him smiling. He didn't know that soon he'd be crying and we'd be the ones smiling.  
"Now, that's good... now, if you'd both just kneel down so that we can arrest you... But once again, I don't like any funny trick you Indians might play!"  
We had no choice but to do so, but just as a distraction, I said, "It's not funny..." This enraged him, and even Fateh Singh warned me to stop or he might just shoot. Hearing this, the Commander held him by the chin, almost as if strangling him. "What did you say? Do you think that we are cruel? It is you who are cruel, you insolent savages!"  
I just flicked my hand a little, taunting the commander, "Oh, you'll like it a lot..."  
A volley of fifteen shots, and an infinite amount of smoke engulfed us all. No one could see anything. The Commander was scolding his Musketeers loudly that he had told those "untrained blokes" to not fire, when suddenly I heard a painful groan. Fateh Singh had twisted his arm. "If we're savages," he began, when I came in front of the commander, and completed the line - "It's only because you firangis have made us that way." And that was the last thing the Commander ever heard. He might have gotten away in the smoke, but his scolding the Musketeers gave him away and got him killed. Not that I feel bad for him, but it really was confusing to figure out in that smoke who had shot whom.  
Once again, we continued, and were almost at the gate, when a guard beckoned my companion - "Wait a minute... I know you... Fateh Singh! This time I'll not spare you!"  
His leaping onto my companion even scared me a little. Though Fateh Singh was pinned to the ground, he refused to take our help. "Go! I handled him back at Barrackpore; I'll handle this angrez now!" He didn't let me speak much, just saying, "He's much more important! Go!"  
That one guard was no big deal for Fateh Singh, and he quickly wrestled with the guard, stabbing his arm in the process. I turned back repeatedly. He didn't need my help. In the end, Fateh Singh shot the incapacitated guard.  
We were out of the fortress gates now. He ran up to us, when suddenly he turned and ran back. I followed him for some distance, seeing him take on a group of five English swordsmen that had followed him. He disarmed one, and killed three more with the sword, as if it were nothing. The last guard disarmed him. But that guard had forgotten about Fateh Singh being an Assassin, like me - he too had a hidden blade - and this blade wounded the guard. Unfortunately, he was able to hit it with an axe and break it. That was my moment to save my friend - a throwing knife in the right spot. It worked, and I asked him to come with us, as we were nearly out of the area.  
He pointed to his knee, saying, "Just go... I'm a bit slowed down by this wound here... I'll catch up... Maybe we'll meet later..."  
I should have understood what he meant then and there itself. Maybe I could have done something about it. Or perhaps his decision was right, and letting the Jahanpanah escape was far more important.  
"No, I'll never leave you here! It was you who taught me, 'no man left behind', and now..."  
But he didn't let me speak, instead interrupting and ordering, this time loudly, to go. He then added, "It's for your own sake!"  
I couldn't take it anymore - he was almost begging me to follow his orders. "If that's the case... I accept. But within a few days, do try to rendezvous with me and the others."  
I kept looking at him for some time, hoping to get a response, but his gaze just pleaded with me to go, and after a few seconds, I slowly turned and went.

Winter has set in, and we can all feel the cold in the surroundings. Suddenly, almost as if a shadow, I see someone coming.  
It feels as if the month of Kvār has arrived. Everywhere around one can see puddles. Here grow many types of wild grass, and the many green trees that decorate the landscape. One can almost smell the rotting seeds in the water. I see many children playing, jumping in the puddles, and I remember how with just a little outing in this weather I caught a dreadful fever. It was when home-remedies did not work that a local medicine-man was called in to heal me, and that medicine man was none but Fateh Singh. He regularly checked temperature, administered herbal medicines and so on, until one day it was gone.  
He knew the cure for many diseases, and he would carry out diagnosis and treatment whenever anyone was ill in the locality.  
The second time we met was three years back, in 1854. We were both recruits in the Brotherhood, and we trained together. From our earliest days together as recruits, we were the best of friends. I am reminded of the many days that we spent together. I vividly remember our little games of chess, which every time, I used to win, as he often confused the moves of a Bishop and a Castle. For this he was ridiculed by everyone. But who knew, that that person who always lost chess, would be such a good player, a hero, I should say, at strategy and its execution in real life!  
For all his achievements and defending the Assassin Den twice against Company attacks, he was made an Apprentice in 1855. He successfully managed the local den, and it was only after having an administrator like him that he earned the respect of people.  
One day when the two of us were tasked with taking down a rogue Brother, he got badly wounded. No one else came to his aid, but me, and this made our friendship stronger than ever. He quickly recovered and was hale and hearty once again.  
Then there was this strange case involving my own brother - we used to call him Johnnie - who was declared a traitor to the nation. This was in 1856. I was kept in the dark about the whole matter until one day, Fateh Singh came to me with news that the target - Johnnie - had been hunted down. He said that the Assassins had tried their best to save him, but the Company – which more or less had become one with the Templar Order – arrived with superior weapons and had routed all our forces. "The Kompanee arrested him. And in a political move, they put him on trial, with the pretence of giving him a fair chance to respond to the charges." From what I know, the trial was rigged, and he was declared guilty in the first hearing itself, and sentenced to death.  
What I didn't know was that the British, who are absolutist tyrants, had also burnt down our house, and looted all our assets.  
Sitting in one corner of the bureau, I remember myself discussing the matter with my parents, and how to raise funds to sustain ourselves, when Fateh Singh showed me a large diamond he had in his possession. Initially, I declined to take it, but he replied calmly, "This once belonged to my grandmother. She used to tell me, 'Please put it to good use.' And is helping a friend in need not good use? Please accept this. I owe you at least this much." Slowly he convinced me and thus changed our life altogether.  
Then came the year 1857, when the Revolt began. Together, we stood in support of Mangal Pandey, the great revolutionary who led us on this path. Together we faced punishment for our role, and together we escaped that punishment. I remember how, he used to say, "This rebellion is a bit too brutal. It appears that what we're doing is facilitating the removal of one tyrant only to be replaced by another. So many lives lost... so many families... destroyed. Utterly. It appears as if we've lost all our humanity, and have started killing the guilty and innocent alike. I just want it to end... to end... to end... and peace restored..."  
From what I overheard his friends say, he himself had lost his family to the Company. Yet he never let grief and bad memories get the better of him, and always displayed great mercy to those who surrendered.  
The recollection disappears slowly. The sun has risen up, and the day has now started. I can see out of the window, a crow flying, coming near the window, perhaps seeking shelter. In my trembling hands, I still have the letter from his brother, and its ant-like lines start fading away as by each passing moment, I find it more and more difficult to believe, and keep asking myself - "Is he really no more?"


End file.
